


calypso

by minbar, Pamphylia



Series: music to be murdered by [1]
Category: Doom (Video Games)
Genre: ARC-centric, Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Breaking and Entering, Drama, F/M, Gen, Gore, Happy Ending, Jewish Elena Richardson, Miami, Murder, Murder mystery but without the mystery, Psychological Horror, Self-Defense, Vacation, Vietnamese Intern (DOOM), body disposal, he can speak french and vietnamese, this story is dense with headcanons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:41:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28145544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minbar/pseuds/minbar, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pamphylia/pseuds/Pamphylia
Summary: καλύπτω (kalyptō), meaning "to cover", "to conceal", "to hide", or "to deceive".--an intern-centric doom fic
Relationships: Elena Richardson/ARC Broadcaster (implied)
Series: music to be murdered by [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2113857
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	calypso

**Author's Note:**

> an intern-centric doom fic.
> 
> this piece has some headcanons of my own, and thus may not be fully accurate to the game.
> 
> trigger warning for blood, gore, murder, throwing up/bodily fluids in general, and the like. the trend starts around sembrich and continues throughout most of the story, even if it dwindles in intensity after the climax of the story. if you don't like the listed topics, click off for your own sake.
> 
> that being said, i hope you enjoy.

  
\-----------ascend-----------

  
**I**

the quiet office blues unsung by overworked employees were loud enough by the wisps of the molecules to deafen, and perhaps that was the ulterior motive, given their boss’ increased hearing capabilities.

the ARC scientist, with a count of requested assistance by his coworkers, paid no mind. woefully ignorant, maybe, but he knew better. an intact salary and union benefits was no meager feature. With a simple bachelors, it was a steal almost.

gambling was a degenerate, scorched earth activity, and those to enable a fool. the emblem of the spades nothing within its worth,

but he hit the lottery.

\-----------jagatai-----------

  
**II**

the tranquil knowing of his upcoming break was a gentle, welcomed dagger of the mind, soothing the ARC scientist to term for the date.

stronger than any alloy his boss was composed of.

“the names read out will be those who are assigned to the ARC carrier near the UAC atlantica facility. you all will be joined by the UAC sector as well. pay attention,”

in a monotone, dr. samuel hayden spoke. in a daze, it loomed over the ARC scientist that his department was gradually drained, accounting for another facsimile of a day in which they remained coworkers, but nothing more.

“...ARC scientist…”

there he was, the bells from cloud 9 chimed for him, petit bourgeois himself.

“...will be taking an internship position under the supervision of…”

an excellent breakdown.

the scraping and emptying of chairs left the assembly room depleted, whose most defining pride was in its population, pulled and gifted to the next, who would inevitably suffer the same fate.

all work, no play.

\-----------petuntze-----------

  
**III**

“that’s your ride?”

the good doctor quirked, gazing at the auto in the near horizon, blurred behind the intern’s shoulder.

“yeah? what about it?”

“it’s positively awful,” she served with a smile.

stunned, the open, light-hearted insult flooded in his head before it drained, dripping out of his ears.

“wow. thanks, elena. It’s called ‘getting what you can manage,’”

tucking a brilliant, curled strand behind her ear, a snort rose from her neck and rumbled deep from her nostrils.

“if it comforts you, hayden had to do the same thing now that you’re going on vacation. miami, huh?”

“it’s...easy, i know, but i’m not looking for anything complicated. ARC is complicated,”

“you’d dislike bat mitzvahs,”

“does tết count?”

elena shrugged, reaching up to adjust her glasses, perched loosely along the bridge of her nose.

“maybe,”

“wow,”

hand on his bicep, she shoved him lightly, not much weight or malice behind the action.

“go before the traffic catches up to you, you know what they say about drivers in miami,”

off to the races.

\-----------bolivia-----------

  
**IV**

deeper down south he went, involuntarily the bulbous trees above faded into overreaching palm trees, their iconic arch over the roof of the car providing the darkened shade with their mellow sway.

with the heat potent in the air, flame a sinking blue, the air conditioner evolved in its use, a wider range it served and that the intern hoped it would cover.

running a dented bottle cap against the elevated ribs of the air conditioner, popped off the delicately cracked glass of a long-forgotten bottle’s handle, this small guilty pleasure he allowed himself.

the flames of the stirring sun began to engulf the scaling blue sky, subdued in its artistry, the cars passing by in a flicker dwindling as did the bright of day.

rest came with the hours ahead.

\-----------eyen-----------

  
**V**

pulling into the spacious capacity of the complex’s front courtyard, the car door skewed ajar with the slight push on it by the intern’s two fingers, calloused and cracked from experienced time of handling screens day after day, empowered by the continuous driving of the day before.

once he stepped out and shut the door with a deep rumble, a mousy bellhop scurried to his side, eager in her pace to handle the man’s luggage after his unsaid consent, holding open the car’s trunk for her with his raised arm.

the bellhop’s raven hair was cut to her collarbones, visible and sharp under the loosely tied scarf around her thin neck, lips a cherry red, much to match the liquor the intern hoped was plentiful in miami nightlife. it would stain the rim of the glass sweetly.

it reminded the intern of his ex.

too much.

“this way, sir?”

out of his wits, the intern caught himself in, and he stumbled.

\-----------inscribe-----------

  
**VI**

wandering around, seeing the little things that mattered, it made the intern feel important. is this what samuel hayden felt?

a group of unfamiliar people scrambled the area, gathering in the petite plaza area, encircled by towering walls and alibis given by the numerous, scattered windows dividing the excuse of a breeze this climate had to give.

the running fountain, embalmed in its shaved marble and soaring droplets of water, the moisture it gave was an errand of mercy, granting this area some entropy it would lack without it.

reluctant, the intern sat on a bench. in a vacuum, it was almost decrepit compared to the relatively tamed area and foliage around, creaking under the intern’s weight. 

by reflex, he checked his inbox. nothing new, as it should have been. 

it’d stretch into july, and he would fly.

\-----------flacon-----------

  
**VII**

dangling bells beyond chimed affectionately with his presence, swinging with some hidden grace when the intern pulled the doors open to let himself in. he left his car parked on the road still, not having paid much attention to the landmarks overseeing his temporary path.

the cashier’s glance above to check the new arrival wasn’t subtle, neither was his uninterested expression when he went back to reading a crisp, yellowed newspaper.

he straggled into the ghostly aisles, pulling off the items on display, a more primal craving for each item as their theme became less methodical, devolving into coincidences without any connections.

shivers ran down his exposed arms and his spine, entering into the freezer section at the back of the gas station. mindlessly, the ice consumed his wrists, stinging him with their frightened temperature melting onto his flesh wetly and running off the six pack beer he lifted.

he didn’t drink, but he’ll indulge.

returning to the cashier, the intern threw down the pile he had bundled into his arms onto the counter. staring as each item left his vision, grabbed and bagged by the man parallel to him.

“new here, aren’t you?”

he lifted his head, lips pursued before he nodded.

“oh, yea,”

the first smile he’s seen since he last left elena off at his prior location, golden cheeks rounded to reflect the light from the outside, a downpour from the windows.

“enjoy it, man. you’ve probably earned it,”

the cashier slid the two bags back into his arms, and the intern bid him adieu. 

  
\-----------armco-----------

  
**VIII**

the intern was able to catch at least 3 people whose relaxed glare fell onto him, drawn to his solid black shirt, only adorned with a small, white ARC symbol on the corner near the cut sleeves. was his invitation here sincere, or a mere pity by a bleeding-heart boss?

for once, he could be grateful for elevators, shielding him from scrutiny with their firm doors. the lights haloing him, from the sprouting corners of the lift to the popped, shining buttons with their consecutive numbers, it wasn’t dissimilar to the crowding screens of his work back home. 

the pacifying whirring of the elevator’s machinery, ascending up the building and brushing each floor left behind, a promise of return behind each passed.

makes him feel missed.

\-----------phyfe-----------

  
**IX**

once the elevator had let the intern out of his gilded cage, the lights he once knew feathered out for the mid afternoon aubade, in loco parentis at war with any darkness on the brink. was it natural, or the result of a burned out hallway flare? who knew.

with a modest tug on the door handle, there was the phenomena of its springs, working in strange ways as it brought the handle back again, but the intern was spared this action for now. the door’s hinges shuddered when the entrance fell back.

floor-length curtains pulled back, the room was lit generously, the kitchenette adjacent the door polished in its monochrome, against the backdrop of the colourful flat. L-shaped, eye-catching red couches lining the room warped through the reflection of the purple glass centerpiece. fertile, lofty greenery humbled itself into the corners of the sitting room. for sure, the other rooms would be tested.

the intern would be sleeping well tonight.

\-----------btise-----------

  
**X**

“what’s this?”

there was a short, wide black table lined up against the ending wall which encapsulated the hallway to the heart of the intern’s flat, a matching landline phone tilted to stare at its user.

the intern hesitantly flicked his fingers against the thick, spiraled cord, which bounced with the applied energy and then fell back into place, almost blending into the tabletop. 

sliding his fingers under it, his thumbs lightly massaged the circular buttons that made up the body before he attempted to lift it, the table pressing up against his thigh in protest to the force. with the scorned frown that wrinkled itself onto his face, the intern rose onto his toes, revealing the landline affixed to the wall by a wire.

perhaps this hotel has a penchant for the vintage afterall.

He returned the phone back onto the table, pushing it away with his knee to caress his rounded chin with a patchy, wrapped index finger. the intern found his doubt of its versatility reasonable. 

\-----------snowless-----------

  
**XI**

a dented, curved can stagnated on the nightstand, a polished wood left untouched by its last visitors - pious, but pure. 

the burgundy metal reproduced the sight in its front gaze, the intern immersed in the thick duvet, a velvet ocean which cut off the sight of his freckled flesh from the naked air before it appeared back with the rest hidden under a rickety warmth tousled over each interval.

his thick frames had slid off the fine bridge of his nose, laying dead in the crook of his arm, nearly bent in a 90 degree angle. without them, his pupils overtaken by his heavy lids would blur, and he couldn’t see.

the intern’s stuck-together eyelashes and the corner of his mouth twitched, basked in its unknowing and deprived apathy.

brick buildings quilting the horizon intermingled with the deep rust of the night sky, living until next morning to compete with the rising sun.

\-----------indicter-----------

  
**XII**

thumb deeply entrenched into the hem of his wrinkled shirt, it passed on the suave lenses with ease, steam dried onto the glass diminishing with every calculated swipe.

the intern’s quiet, yet loud and tired grimace was evident on his features, pressed down by the legs of his glasses being tucked tightly behind his ears, clearing up his vision adequately.

“room service!”

followed the considerate knock.

wobbling to the door, he paused, near slamming into it when the intern tripped and leaned onto the surface of it, a drumming pain building up in his elbow which made firm contact against the metal handle, flowering into a tender bruise.

swallowing down his churning, yet hollow stomach, the voice on the other side was allowed in, intruding flamboyantly with a brimming, busy cart. the food was piled upon nicely onto a surprisingly spotless red cloth.

“i...i didn’t order room service,” the intern stuttered.

the man lifted an eyebrow.

“you did last night, sir. it was late, so you agreed to be served early the next day,”

he recalled.

sinking hope of recovering last night’s memories had been replaced with the intern’s overpowering hunger, so he reached for the plates. balancing them in his hands, the man winced.

“they’re hot, sir,”

there was no sting.

\-----------abury-----------

  
**XIII**

posture hunched, his fingers were adept, busy with hurriedly tying the laces of his sneakers together, occasionally twitching in their concentration.

once the knot formed and the strands flared out, the intern grasped the sheets barely to elevate, his spine correcting with a pathetic snap. the burden of his body jostled the corner of the considerable duvet, but the practicality behind ironing it out with the kneading of his palms was little to none.

the living room’s smallest window was cracked open, letting in the mischievous breeze kissing the curtains, bringing them back and forth to the jingle of a decorated wind chime in the background. heavy drawstrings hanging by the corners on the other hand clanked heavily with a rarer wind.

just for a little while, the plants could make do with the air and basking sun without him there. the intern made his way to the doorway, turning off the light behind him.

run, fool.

\-----------sembrich-----------

  
**XIV**

through the glaring darkness of his apartment, only the vibrant red glasses on the marble countertop pierced through, canopied by the closed cabinets beyond.

he had left the window open, hadn’t he?

in sync with deeper, resounding footsteps which caused the floorboards to chatter and groan down under, the intern’s sight scanned about the sitting room, the couches upturned and the purple centerpieces tossed onto the cushions. the curtains pulled closed, the lack of any warmth or chill from under the cloth had complemented the intern’s guess that the window was closed. left relatively untouched, the black table’s phone dangled from its cord, the spirals stretching straight to support the phone’s gravity.

a swift pirouette, and the intern was knocked into the dining room table, his hand falling down to reveal the crimson drops spotting his fingers and his palm, dripping from his nose and weaved into his saliva to stain his teeth. snapping his head up, he dodged a hefty blow from a hammer, exploding the corner of the table into splinters. crouching, he half-sprinted into the kitchen, the intruder quickly following onto his steps.

fingers stretched to the floor, the tips of his fingers pressed flat against the hard material, his other hand reached for the glasses above, the intruder’s prepared swing interrupted by the shower of glass flying from their face. the person fell and their hand pressed against their nose and eyes which shot away when the second glass came down on the top of their covered scalp.

unsheathing the knife from the wooden block near a distant coffee maker, the intern crouched down onto the intruder’s lower body, lifting his arm, stretching his back and shoulder and plunging it into their chest with a sharp, foggy pop.

the intern shuddered with the knife’s meaty scraping when he pulled out, only to cover it in the familiar chest again.

again.

again.

making a mess of them.

fatigue had set in, and the intern pulled the knife out once more, throwing it to his side to clatter on the floor and reveal his palm, bathing in it to the point his own flesh and spilled blood from earlier were a distant memory.

a burning rose in his nose and the intern choked, dragging himself off the body as bubbled, muggy spittle built up in his mouth and dried on the corners of his lips before expunging bile, wracking his throat with harsh coughs. an uncried sob shook his body as he collapsed, 

and the rock cried out, no hiding place.

\-----------unspun-----------

  
**XV**

deep thrumming in his head, through his ears and nose, the strings of his heart drummed, they have been tangled.

the intern’s eyelids fluttered up, and the familiar weight behind his ears and on the arch of his nose wasn’t felt, but still…

it was clear.

he rose from his sleeping position, his small, childhood bedroom submerged in the cold-shaded dark. the intern reached for his lamp, the tips of his fingers tugging on the string to turn it on, but to no avail.

a khăn vấn was knocked on the floor, and with that, the intern noticed the cardinal red áo dài adorning his body, strangling his torso but plummeting down his arms sloppily.

a pleasant scent wafted in the air, leading the man down the stairs, drawing him near the kitchen. subtle, a lavender scent began to persuade in its dominance as well. crumpled, blood-soaked origami lotuses scattered the floor of the kitchen’s archway.

that humming…

“mẹ?”

“you came back. how are you feeling, dear?”

cracked, dried lips stayed closed, approaching his mother from behind her. over her shoulder, she pushed rice around in a cooker, her eyes downturned. there was no flare in them, glassy and callous.

“maybe you should see a doctor…?”

tears began to blur his vision again, not again. careless, they ran down his cheeks. He tried to lift his arms to wipe his nose or cover his ears from the inner ringing, but he was paralyzed. Pain began to warble, and his eyes throbbed behind his eyelids. His scream only resulted in the skin of his jaw tearing, the hammering of his heart exacerbating the pain. wailing sirens.

falling onto his knees, his bald scalp bore the claw marks from his finely-trimmed nails, before they were soaked in the brain matter and pulsing blood of his exploded head, and the rest of the body fell onto the floor.

an endless cacophony. 

\-----------isidora-----------

  
**XVI**

the sour dryness lingering in his mouth and through his breath disgusted him. saliva and spittle had dehydrated on the corners of his mouth, crusting them shut. 

nis tongue shakily reached out to stroke his lips, bringing some semblance of their former moisture, and that’s when it stopped at a dried patch, rising from his nostrils the blood his body let so easily.

that’s when the foul, rotting smell in the air and the metallic tang of blood assimilated, rising into the air to pollute the flat and the intern’s sense of smell. the intern spared a glance at the body, the areas of flesh he could see through the holes in the balaclava discoloured, as was the blood dried into the floor, deoxygenated into a brown rust.

the rigor mortis had already set in.

suddenly, the paranoid silence of the flat was disrupted by the urgent ringing of the phone. in the miasma of his late crime, he approached the table, the phone still dangling by its cord. He bent down to pick it up and held it to his ear, deep tremors from his sweaty palms into his nervous system.

“good evening, mr…”

he became self aware of his raggedy breathing.

evening, huh?

“you have not picked up my call from yesterday, and i think we could both agree that it was of great importance,”

his free hand made itself into a fist, mouth a thin line before he opened it to speak.

“...w-which was, dr. hayden?”

“the ARC carrier is understaffed, given your vacation’s timing. i apologize for this inconvenience, however, you may have to take some calls from your coworkers in order to keep our operation running smoothly. surely, you understand?”

“yes,”

“i’m glad we came to an agreement-”

the rattle that came with the phone being slammed back in shook the wire and the table it stood on.

much work to do. 

\-----------popover-----------

  
**XVII**

the body laid flat on the floor, making the first job much easier. on the table, the intern emptied out one of his thicker, black suitcases, lining the inside with a thick cover.

a larger, sharp knife he selected had plastic wrapped around the handle, rubbing against the latex cleaning gloves intern found in the cabinet under the pair of sinks in the guilty kitchenette. the knife used to finish the job was thrown into the sink for a more opportune time. he also removed the shirt and pair of pants from the incident, opting to wear the clothes from the intruder’s stripped body instead.  
digging the tip of the knife into the wrist, he began to slide the blade back and forth, sawing his way through the flesh and switching between each wrist until the swinging blade was stopped dead in its tracks by the hard, ivory bone. laying the knife onto the intruder’s penetrated, lacerated chest, the intern took the hammer in hand, smashing on the joints, shattering the area where the carpals married the ulna and radius and tugging on the hand until it came off.

lifting the opposite arm, he did so again.

setting the disjointed hands aside, he looked at the head and feet, still intact with the body, and shook his body with a heavy sigh.

the feet couldn’t hurt.

by the time the hour of decapitation passed, and luggage was half stuffed with the organs, the early evening faded into a red dusk.

\-----------idle-----------

  
**XVIII**

only a few hours away from his flat, an onsite sewage facility was idle. The pools of bacteria would surely be enough to decompose the body, and he would be vindicated soon.

as of all, he did have to take some precautions.

using a thin, lanky filet knife, he sunk the tip of the blade into the area between the collarbones, cutting down into the fat and muscle all the way down to the navel. then, gently worming his fingers into the moist gaps, he began to pull in opposite directions, the barrier parting and cracking to reveal the entrails. 

he wouldn’t vomit again.

couldn’t.

the hammer was utilitarian in use, shown when the pounding of its rounded end onto the ribcage exploded the ribs into pieces, sinking deeper into the cadaver.

plucking off the superficial, surface organs, it spiraled deeper into the intern’s mental vertigo, not accounting for how the bucket next to him began to fill itself in with the gore at his hands, done by his hand. small intestines braided to hug the inside of the circular container encapsulated the kidneys, liver, gallbladder, and pancreas arranged almost rose-like amongst the blood garden. The noxious gases produced an issue no longer. 

picking off the last shards of bone from the body’s gaping hole and the floor to sprinkle on top of the full bucket, he tossed salt into the corpse, lining the inflamed skin of the lacerations with the scathing mineral, as bitter as the sentiment.

curled up in his arms, he stuffed the body into the large suitcase, manipulating the arms and knees up into a fetal position, the skin warmed from the oven left ajar the intern molded. 

the intern clasped the suitcase closed, his luggage ready for the journey later.   


  
\-----------bryan-----------

  
**XIX**

echoing the water’s thick exodus, the bucket sang dejectedly, the spotless faucet creaking once the intern closed its well.

lugging the capsule, he unscrewed a large, dark brown carton. The light grey cap having no sound when slid onto the counter. the only odors in the room were death and the minor, acidic aroma.

the intern placed a hand on the bottom of the carton, tipping it over for the liquid to rush into the pool of water, quickly becoming light in his hands once half the liquid was purged. the canister was placed onto the table top, the only imitation of its presence was in the last red glass spared from the kismet of its brothers.

dipping the mop into the bucket and mixing the hydrogen peroxide and water in, miniature droplets dripped from the head of the mop and onto the floor, dotting on the stained facade before buoyant pops from the drops landing on the floor merged with the stiff, wet pound that came from the mop being slapped onto the floor.

the handle of the mop dug into the intern’s lined palms, inscribing them in the form of faint, flushed lines. withered blood melted into the desaturated chiffon fibers of the mop, the floor innocent in its colour.

lifting the mop, the colour at the tips was questionable, but excusable. its disposal could wait.

leaning the mop on the wall, the intern picked up the bucket, leaning it against the sink and the emulsion of blood, peroxide, and water draining into the sink, knives doused next to them in the same mixture that entombed them.

down went the evidence.

\-----------dem-----------

  
**XX**

debris dusting the bedroom window, it seemed like a viable method of breaking and entering, calling to him their siren song.

seeing the congregated, neon skyline stretched on the fringe of the realm took him out of his trance.

he slid the thick suitcase onto his shoulder, the plastic bag on his other wrist barren. the ‘do not disturb’ tab was hooked onto the curved doorknob and slithering quietly into the staircase next to his flat at the end of the hallway, the flickering and uncertain hallway lights dimmed in his absence.

descending, the somber fog became more severe, until he finally reached the outside, the exit door swinging behind him. the only lights on him now were the feminine, showering moonlight and the concentrated red of the ‘exit’ sign blinking behind him.

leaving the car parked asleep behind him, the intern began his midnight escapade.

\-----------llud-----------

  
**XXI**

kneeling down, he carefully lulled the heavy, irregular rock into his chest, his bicep tight against the earthy, lukewarm rock and leaning forward for the rock to collapse into the plastic bag. after adjusting it, turning it clockwork so that the flat facet of the rock faced the bottom and the sharp top gazing at the intern, he slid it onto his shoulder.

his stride long and his steps deep into the soil, he searched in his pocket, pulling out the screwdriver whose identity was hinted at by its sharp, brief glint, flashing occasionally as it was spun to unscrew the window of the facility. the netted cover popped open, and the intern inserted his arm so that the bag and the suitcase could fall in first, before hooking that arm into the wall and climbing through the window.

unclasping the suitcase, he supported the body’s neck and knees to bring it closer to the rim of the cesspool, dragging the plastic bag over at his knees and lowering the body on the back, the rock scratching the back of their neck. firmly knotting the flimsy handles of the bag around what remained of the neck, the intern began to push.

the knees became submerged, slowly, the void in the torso collected with the murky, musky water. finally, the bagged rock threw itself down, and down the body came with it, drowning in the tainted sea.

a dubious, quivered sigh of relief, and the intern could tread back to the hotel, the suitcase all but a feather in his hand and the ground disturbed and patchy under the oversized boots.

\-----------financed-----------

  
**XXII**

“hey, welcome back!”

the intern’s head snapped up, doe-eyed if he weren’t more careful, fiddling with his fingers under his misty glasses.

“you alright, man?”

he swallowed.

“yeah, just a rough couple of nights,”

“whatever you get tonight is on the house, alright?”

his eyes drew to the stand of boxed cigarettes next to the cashier, and he slowly encroached upon them, picking out a random brand and handing it to the cashier.

“that’s it?”

not meeting his gaze, he confirmed with a nod.

a light thud played out, and the intern looked at the red lighter and dainty bottle of vodka handed to him, shiny as the plastic wrapping on the cigarette box.  
  
“can’t have one without the other,” he grinned.

the corners of his lips lifted to the intern’s first, candid smile for some amount of time, earnest in its jest.

“thank you,”

the cashier waved his goodbyes, the lasting sounds of the bell to drift, waiting.

\-----------cuzco-----------

  
**XXIII**

he ends his day up on the roof.

stained, chewed fingernails picked at a stuck, unglued weakness in the wrapping, taking the small, transparent tab between his index and thumb to unravel it from the box. flipping the box open, spilling out some of the unlit cigarettes onto the pavement and stepping to crush one.

drawing a stick from the package, he inserted it between his pursued lips, dropping the cartridge back into his pocket and bringing the lighter up to his lips. striking his thumb on the metal spark, it illuminated his exasperated, dark eyes through his frames, wrinkles prominent and engraved under his eyes.

unscrewing the cap from the hand-held glass of vodka, he tipped it over to soak the tinted clothes, the intense and tart alcohol drizzled into cloth.

relighting the little red lighter, the intern examined the outcome, curious in its burn before he let go at last, following its fall into the metal pail and soon the newborn inferno. 

The happy song of his phone erupted, vibrating in his pocket. The intern retrieved it and held it to his ear, the irrational little bonfire and its kindled embers reflected on his face.

“hello?”

“‘d evening, supervisor…”

under the marriage of alcohol and fire from the lighter, the clothes and cloth ripped and melted, crackling under the heat.

\-----------vanitied-----------

  
**XXIV**

steaming beads ran down his body, tracing over his freckles and over any dark beauty marks on his body, the steam building up to cloud the mirrors and sticking to the ceiling, looming over the intern.

the heat was a welcome change on his blushing fingertips.

when last of showerhead wore off, stepping out of the tub and wiping his forearm on the glass to reveal himself and the backdrop behind him, racks of wax candles, glass jars, and round bottles in numerous, straight rows.

picking at a patch of dry, dead skin on his bottom lip, it peeled off, leaving the aching, raw skin in its wake. running the tip of his tongue on it self-consciously, the thin ribbon of dead, shriveled skin skidded down his arm, gone with the wind.

\-----------hatch-----------

  
**XXV**

the intern could practically feel his lungs convulse with the ash still present from his sulking night, hurling the box into the trash and the lid floating back down after he took his foot off the can’s front.

feet dragging on the floor to the living room, walking past a dribbling, but gleaming bucket. partially, the intruder would be sleeping with the fishes, digested overtime when the intern would be long gone from the dilapidated, mauve sea of earlier, watching the rouge dawn by the white, painted boardwalk.

walking over to the lone plant in the corner of the room, the television programme burst with its artificial drama at a low level, the intern humming in stride and pouring a glass of water into the soil, soothing the greenery into relaxing in the sun’s rays.

bringing his cellphone to his ear as fingers stroked the plant’s leaves, a pinky running down the stems, his thumb hit the notification of a new call. 

“hey,”

“elena!”

\-----------sulkier-----------

  
**XXVI**

“bo-”

“non, no french. i’m not in the mood for french today,”

“and not even a ‘hello?’”

the intern sighed, the effect dulled by the phone’s speaker.

“sorry, i’ve just had some bad couple of days,”

“on vacation?”

“yes, on vacation. With how it’s coming along, i’m starting to think hayden deliberately sabotaged it!”

the woman on the other line snickered.

“It’s good to know you’re on the same page with elena and i,”

“i-i mean at least you get to do broadcasts in the arctic! that sounds like vacation enough to me,”

“you’d freeze,” the ARC broadcaster stated bluntly.

“...maybe…”

she giggled.

“you were persuaded rather quickly,”

“i chose miami for a reason, i’m not a big fan of the cold,” the intern reminded her.

“with how milquetoast your choice of vacation is, i can see,”

“don’t tell me elena said that,”

the other line paused.

“i have my sources,”

the intern groaned.

“tell her i’m chewing her ear off when i get back,”

“anything else?,”

“no, i’m in a bad mood now,”

“liar,”

the intern chuckled.

“i’m coming back on monday, when do you think i’ll get see you again?”

“friday,”

“that long?”

“it takes at least a day to make the journey back,”

“and elena deals with you?”

“my god-”

“i’m kidding,”

“yes, you better be,”

“that aside, i’ll meet the both of you soon, alright?”

“of course,”

“i’ll call you later,”

turning the head of the mop in his hands, tightening into a knot that drained it of any moisture, the intern laid it flat onto a layered carpet of paper towels, patting it down with the palm of his hand nicely, the fibers staying subdued. 

\-----------afoot-----------

  
**XXVII**

it was only a few years ago that he was with her, but they’ve spent more time apart than together.

or maybe it just seemed so.

looking back at the domestic bliss, the caresses on his cheekbones from her fingertips, how his descending nose bridge contrasted her’s with its petite, but all-noticeable rise in the middle, all the way into her voice, singing him throughout the night.

it almost made all the vulgarity, the danger, and the arguments worth it, a paradise whose trees remained eternally dormant and barren, whose flora remained wilted and the feathers of each cherub ashy, but still paradise nonetheless.

It melts away with a flutter.

\-----------mayan-----------

  
**XXVIII**

watching a tired, sullen monarch butterfly just outside his window perch onto thin strip of wood adjacent to the windowsill on the inside, 

it made the intern feel caring.

the urge brewed in him, for the aloof to reach and brush the mere tip of his fingers against the sensitive wings, bringing the butterfly into a frenzy and allowing it to fall,

it was adequate to just watch.

happiness is a butterfly.

\-----------aconitic-----------

  
**XXIX**

the air conditioner crooned, providing the chilled air throughout the flat, dusting each orifice with an adjusted temperature for the blistering heat wave outside and the early morning sun, unforgiving in its crusade against the surface of the earth.

a powdered blue duster slid on the surfaces of the living room, as much as the intern could reach whilst still being able to balance the corded phone on his shoulder, tipping his head over to listen in. 

a temporary outage cut off the intern’s phone from being able to dial anybody at the ARC or the UAC if he absolutely needed to, but considering his unprofessional, loosely fit attire of a heat-fitting tank top and boxer shorts, it seemed to be a miracle just as it would if white powder began to reign from the sky on a summer afternoon.

ringing split his through his ears, knocking the intern out of his wits.

\-----------truth-----------

  
**XXX**

the task on hand was light, the fridge starved of any meaningful contents, proven by the crash of the disregarded pack of beer being shovelled into the garbage can.

noticing the half-filled can still cracked open at the back of the fridge, the intern fished it out, keen in its chilled state, sticking to the crook of the intern’s palm. 

the tab was still molded into the tin at the top which would allow for easy access. Placing his finger into the tab’s empty ring, he began to pull up to separate the adjacent tab, the hand gripped onto the can shaking from the extreme temperature and the force he was exerting.

“damn it!-”

the edge of the can nicked his ring finger, one, large bead of blood building up and dragging itself down the digit before it dropped into the beer can.

with a scowl, this can’s toss made a brash, metal drumming pound against the bottom of the trash bin.

\-----------greedier-----------

  
**XXXI**

two suitcases wide awake, the intern tossed each folded pile in, another pile building up for the inevitable cramp.

every instance surprised him each and every time he’d find a lost relic, under the couch? behind the plant or the television? maybe next time it’ll be in a hole in the wall.

wandering into the kitchen, searching his mind for when and what he first packed to go back into retrograde, he paused at the singular glass in the kitchenette, which gazed back.

keep a memoir of a memory he’d rather forget.

\-----------capeskin-----------

  
**XXXII**

switching the light of his lamp off, the intern turned onto his side, causing the duvet blanketing him to slide to his hips, supporting the pillow by tucking his arm under it, cradling his head.

he reached up to his eyes and rubbed the delicate skin of his eyelids with the dorsum of his hand, the faintly flavoured chapstick on his lips still on his tongue.

this week, through the 9 circles of hell and back again.

pick a god and pray.

\-----------ogden-----------

  
**XXXIII**

“you’ve been waiting?”

the supervisor stood up, his arms flexed rigidly behind his back and his posture tight. him being in his ARC uniform’s undershirt and slacks held up by dark, caramel-coloured suspenders just reminded the intern that it was his break.

“yes, dr.hayden voiced that under the supervisor position i would also have to oversee your safe return,”

“how nice of him,” the tone of his remark was vague.

“yes. i have heard from dr. richardson your time off wasn’t to your expectations,”

the intern blinked, his head becoming stuffy with blood pounding in his ears.

“yeah...i’m still glad for the time off but i still had to take a couple of calls,”

“i see. It comes with the position, you’ll get used to it,”

characteristically mumbling behind the supervisor’s back, they both entered the train car that had drawn into the station, the warning lights flickering overhead and in tune with the monotone, feminine voice calling out new arrivals, times, and delays echoed throughout the metro.

\-----------micropia-----------

  
**XXXIV**

  
a tropical depression.

the monsoon outside stormed, striking the closed ARC carrier windows with each tap and dance on the surface glass, hailing mist in its coming and fogging them beyond recognition of the moody, grey clouds. Windows whose desaturated, scarlet linings telling the tale of potential dangers became more saturated against the storming backdrop.

amongst his colleagues once again, the intern prepared the portal, a plume of brilliant blue to scale the blue sky.

“i knew it was here…”

the beast was just around the corner.

**Author's Note:**

> special thanks to my beta reader pamphylia, they encouraged me throughout this laborious project and made the end worth it.
> 
> if you like it or just want to talk about the story comment, kudos, or whatever you want.


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